


Sanctuary

by yhlee (etothey)



Category: Star of the Guardians - Margaret Weis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etothey/pseuds/yhlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-series: on the dark path, Sagan and Maigrey find a moment's shelter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karrenia_rune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/gifts).



Maigrey was very close to faltering when the two of them came across the sanctuary.

Sagan and Maigrey had fought their way through terrible thorn-tangles and shadows of cutting cold, past apparitions with wide smiles and white sharp teeth, and pools of treacherous spitting fire. The path they sought was dark and hemmed about with plants that grew in writhing coils, and whose leaves dripped a slow venom of the soul: it did not slow the limbs or clog the blood in the veins, since the two of them were spirits anyway, but it bred doubt and despair, poisoned the dreams of escape that they held tremulously in their hearts.

Maigrey's shining silver armor shone less brightly, now. There were cracks in it, black at the edges like lips gnawed by decay. Her long pale hair was matted and tangled, brittle where strands of it had been burned away. In other places it was discolored by acid. Even the light of her bloodsword sputtered on and off, off and on, like a candle about to gutter out.

They were so close to the path, and so far, and great wolves howled in a distance growing rapidly less distant. Sagan feared for Maigrey, although what he said was, "Your endurance is not what it once was, my lady." They might be spirits, but even spirits remember the habits of the body, and those habits include pain, fear, fatigue.

"I hate to break it to you, my lord," she said, with what wit she could muster up, "but we're neither of us young anymore." Even so, her voice was weak, and the bloodsword's light grew fainter yet.

Another howl came, louder. Sagan glanced involuntarily upward at the moonless sky and its stars, which shone too brightly, too coldly, in colors red-shifted. They would have to make a last stand soon--and then he saw it.

There, nestled amid leafless trees, was a cottage. He would have expected its like on some planet that hadn't yet discovered star travel. A faint warm light glowed from the single window; that was all.

Maigrey had spotted it too. "It's too good to be true," she said, pain forgotten in a moment's wondering. They hadn't seen any sign of human habitation before, and why would they have? This shadowed world existed to test the fallen, to give them one final chance at redemption, not for colonization.

"It will have to do," Sagan said grimly. He went ahead by two paces, to check for traps.

The door opened readily enough. Inside was a simple room with a pallet on the floor—for the illusion of rest, he supposed—and a table, and two chairs. Upon the table burned a single white candle. Nothing leapt out from the corners. No demons clung to the rafters or scratched their way out from the plain wooden walls. It was too good to be true, as Maigrey had said.

"Hurry," Sagan said, his voice rough with impatience, when Maigrey hesitated at the doorway.

"Even if this isn't a trap," she said, limping in, "there's no guarantee that horrible hallucinogenic vapors won't seep in under the door."

She had been about to sit at the table, but Sagan shook his head and pointed at the pallet. "You need rest," he said.

Her mouth twisted. "I've disappointed you again, haven't I, my lord?" But she went, and couldn't suppress a sigh of relief as she eased herself down. The bloodsword's light winked out as she set it down with great care next to her hand.

Disappointment? His only disappointment was with the Power who thought that this was an appropriate punishment for the both of them, but that wasn't something he was going to take up with Maigrey. "You can think what you want," he said. He looked at the chair, frowned, then sat and contemplated the candle.

Across the mind-link he could sense both her fragility, which was temporary, and her strength, which was not. He had never been one to give comfort, however, and in any case, such a gesture would have upset her hard-won equilibrium. So he left her her space, trusting that she would hold herself together.

It might have been his imagination, but the howls didn't seem as near as they had been just moments ago.

"It's impossible to keep track of the calendar down here," Maigrey said musingly. "Do you remember Winterfeast Night, my lord?"

It was exactly the kind of inane question she was prone to, but if it gave her comfort..."I can't imagine why you think my memory is so lacking, my lady," Sagan said. "I remember the year your brother gave me a novel. To this day I have no idea why he thought I would find Jane Eyre so compelling."

Genuine startlement: "You read it?"

"It was a gift," he said disparagingly.

Maigrey laughed, but the laugh turned soon enough to hiccoughs, and Sagan suppressed his own sigh. Tears wouldn't be far behind, he knew. "Platus said the expression on your face was priceless," Maigrey said. "I should have been there, but..." She fell silent, remembering.

Sagan had memories of his own. The mind-link had only been a year old, and he had still spent entire nights raging against the fate that had linked him to the wild girl-child. In a fit of what one of the instructors had termed "grossly inappropriate judgment," he had given her a dagger, on the grounds that someone so desperate as to stab her headmistress with a purloined steak knife might as well have a proper weapon. He hadn't meant for her to get into trouble with the headmaster, whom she had regarded with such awe, or expected that she would refuse to tell him where the dagger had come from out of some notion of protecting the gift-giver.

He was brought out of his reverie by the unmistakable sound of Maigrey sniffling. He opened his mouth to say, "Pull yourself together," then closed it.

Sagan had a very good memory, and he was positive that the candle and its holder had been the only things upon the table when they arrived. Yet there was now a white folded handkerchief on the table next to the candle holder. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the handkerchiefs that John Dixter had forever been handing over to Maigrey.

Maigrey hadn't spotted it. She was staring at the far wall, crying quietly in exhaustion.

Grunting irritably, Sagan snatched up the handkerchief and strode to her side. "Stop sniveling," he said, and handed the handkerchief out to her.

She blinked at him; tears fell. "My lord?" she said, clearly unnerved. "I could be mistaken, but that looks like one of John's--" She stopped before adding, _And I know how little you cared for him._

Sagan checked himself from saying what he usually said. "He was your friend," he said roughly. "Are you going to use the damned thing for its intended purpose, or not?"

For some reason, this seemed to cheer her. Maigrey fingered the handkerchief, and the pain eased from her eyes. Then she propped herself up on one elbow and dabbed at her face. She looked up at Sagan, and although she didn't let go of the handkerchief, the sea-colored eyes flushed deep blue, seeing no one but him. "My lord," she said with a crooked smile.

Sagan didn't smile, exactly, but he closed his hand over hers. "My lady," he said.

They would have to leave when the candle burned down to darkness, he could tell that already, but for this little space they could have a dram of comfort.


End file.
